


The Ghost and Mrs Weasley

by Mary_West



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_West/pseuds/Mary_West
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron has died, and Hermione needs to make her way in the world. But the cottage she wants to rent is haunted…</p>
<p>EWE but otherwise canon compliant. Set 15 years after the 1998 Great Battle of Hogwarts. My thanks as always to the great JKR for giving us an amazing sandpit to play in, and in this case, thanks also to Josephine Aimee Campbell Leslie, who wrote a delightful book that I now must find, and to Gene Tierney, Rex Harrison and George Sanders who turned the book into one of my favourite movies. I've been meaning to write this one for years, and a prompt in the SSHG_Promptfest Winter 2013 inspired me to finally do it. All errors are mine and mine only..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The footsteps on the stairs sounded sad and heavy. Someone watching from the top of the stair would have seen a bundle of fluffy hair, then a sad face, then a woman's body in an ill-fitting black skirt and jacket that had been good once upon a time, but which had been worn too often for too many sad occasions. The watcher would also have heard the rumble of children's running footsteps through the ground floor, and the thump of a heavy body falling into a chair in the front hallway. Lastly, they would have heard a brisk stride on the first floor below as someone opened up the curtains.

Hermione Weasley, 34 years old and a widow, looked around the airy room and smiled for the first time in quite a while. She noted with satisfaction the view from the windows, which looked out over the edge of the low cliff and out to sea. A telescope stood at the French doors. They led to a balcony, and the room was sparsely but carefully furnished with a desk and chair and a low chaise longue. The rug was faded but had once been a cheerful geometric pattern in green and silver, and the curtains were a simple cream that did not show any wear. The only oddity was the rectangular patch where something had once hung above the fireplace. She walked to the desk, putting her bag down beside it, and ran her fingers over its polished surface.

"Mrs Weasley?" The agent's voice carried easily up the stairs. Hermione did not reply, and moved over to the fireplace, and the agent was heard talking with someone else. Running her hand along the mantelpiece, Hermione noted that it was free of dust, as if someone had cleaned it only that morning. The grate was gleaming too. She heard Ginny Weasley's voice telling the agent where she was, then the footsteps of the agent coming up the stairs to the study.

"Mrs Weasley? There you are. You should have a look downstairs, where the bedrooms are. But this would make a wonderful playroom for the children."

"Or a study for me, Mr Wells. I intend to continue my studies, and this room is very suitable."

"Then you'll appreciate the excellent light, and the fresh air." Bernard Wells, newest employee of Coombe and Spratt (Estate Agents Pty Ltd), had, of course, been given the rental properties to deal with – smallest commission and most work. This had been his worst property to rent – a long way out of town and with a special problem, which he had (by law) to disclose "I do have to let you know, though, that the last five tenants lasted less than a month here. The longest was twenty days. The shortest left after the first night."

"Was it the drains?" 

"Er… no."

Hermione turned to face the agent, puzzled. "Damp? Rats? I intend to have a cat, you see." She watched Bernard's face contort with anxiety. "Or does it have a history?"

"Cliff Cottage is over a hundred years old, and as such, has a tragic history. The last owner killed himself here."

"Oh Mer … my goodness." Hermione gasped as she looked around. "Where? How? Why? Who was he – or she?"

"His name was Septimus Prince, and he was a retired chemical engineer." Bernard pulled his notes out, realising that this possible tenant would only want the truth. "He still dabbled though, and he seemed to be running an experiment up here, in this study. We've removed it since, but there was a worktable covered in beakers and burners… Apparently he closed the doors and windows tight, then deliberately mixed two dangerous chemicals together which released a deadly gas. His cleaning woman found him dead, on that very couch."

"How long ago was that?" Hermione managed to refrain from asking _and is the chemistry equipment still here?_

"Nine years ago. But the tenants all swear that his ghost haunts the house. His portrait is upstairs – used to hang over the fireplace there, but we took it down because it gave the tenants the willies. That, and the fact that the place never gets dusty. We aired it properly when we became the agents. It's owned by some corporation in Scotland, but we're the ones in charge, and can we interest you in it?"

An approaching thunder indicated the presence of the children, who tumbled into the room like a pair of puppies. Rose immediately ran to the telescope to try it out, while Hugo climbed up on the chaise longue and started bouncing on it. 

"Oh please, Mum! Please! There's a garden and a path down to the beach across the road, and a basement …" Hugo's eagerness was nothing less than one would expect of a six year old who had been cooped up in a city apartment for as long as he could remember. 

"… and there's a chicken coop too, and room for a dog, and you said if we ever had a house we could have a dog…" Rose normally carried herself with the maturity of an eight year old who considered herself superior to her brother, but some things just have to be said. "And besides, Aunty Ginny said the kitchen is just like the one Gran used to have, and Gran says it's much nicer and bigger and would keep the whole house warm in winter and she'll teach me how to cook cakes in the stove."

"And there's a whole big room for a playroom too!"

"Off that couch, Hugo. Rose – that telescope is fragile. Hands off. And this would be my study." Hermione peeled her eldest's fingers from the brasswork, then cast a silent polishing spell to remove the worst of the stickiness that somehow seems to emanate from every child's grasp. 

"Oh, not this room, Mum." Rose's nose was in the air, disdaining the elegant clean lines. "No, there's enough bedrooms downstairs that there's one for you, and one for me, and one for Hugo, and then a huge room for us to play in. _Please?_ "

"Out, you two. I need to see the rest of the place, and discuss things with Mr Wells."

The two children repeated the thundering as they headed down the stairs, and Hermione watched them and shook her head at the energy levels they had. A groan sounded behind her, and she nodded.

"You're right, Mr Wells. They have more energy than I know what to do with."

"I beg your pardon?" Bernard was over by the fireplace, checking that there were no birds' nests up the chimney. "Did you say something?"

"I … " Hermione turned around, but there was no-one behind her. "I'm sorry. I thought I heard you … but of course it wasn't you… Shall we see the rest of the house?"

Ginny Potter and Molly Weasley, who had accompanied Hermione to the house, met her out the front ten minutes later. Molly was holding Hugo's hand while she quietly charmed the nettle rash he had acquired from an angry red welt to a mildly annoying itch, while Ginny and Rose leaned on the front gate and watched the waves run into the cove opposite. Bernard was smiling broadly, and Hermione looked more relaxed than she had for a long time. 

"So?" Molly slowly straightened up and stretched her back.

"We're taking it." Hermione opened her arms out, and Hugo and Rose rushed into them. "We'll move in next week, and we've taken the lease for a year. It will do us good to get out of the city, and the children can go to the local school when the school year starts next month. And more importantly, we can afford it." She looked up at the house, then back at Ginny. "I've signed all the papers – I'll just find where I put my bag down, and then we can go." 

"I'll get it, Mum. Where did you leave it?"

"In the study, beside the desk." Hermione sent both children up after it, then grinned at Molly. "That should wear them out enough that they'll sleep on the drive home." 

"But are you sure, Hermione, dear?" Molly did not look at all convinced. "It's a long way from London, although our place in Devon's not so far. But I can't leave Arthur very often these days, so I won't be able to visit much."

"I'll be fine, Molly. Thanks heaps, but I need to make my own way. Ron's been dead six months now, he's not coming back, and life is going on. Although you are always welcome to visit. But where are those grandchildren of yours?"

"And we have to head back now,", Ginny added. "Harry will have mine back from the zoo in a few hours, and it's a fair drive to the burrow. I wonder if we could add this place to the Floo network?"

At that, Rose and Hugo walked out of the house, carrying Hermione's bag between them. 

"What took you so long?" Hermione took the bag with a nod of thanks. 

"I thought you said it was beside the desk in the study," said Hugo.

"I did."

"But we found it under the telescope." Rose pointed back to the stairs, and by inference, to the other side of the study. 

"Well, then, someone moved it. We have it now, and that's what's important. And Mr Wells is going to check with the owners about pets. Now, back to the Burrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks later, almost to the day, Hermione collapsed onto the chaise longue in what was going to be her special room, and wondered where the family had accumulated so much _stuff_. It had taken the best part of the day to move all their furniture in, and although the amount that had made their London apartment look crowded looked positively Spartan here, it had still been a mammoth effort. Rose and Hugh were supposed to be busy in their own rooms, putting away clothing, but Hermione had heard the front door close almost quietly a few minutes beforehand and had a fairly good idea that they were exploring the local surrounds instead. She wasn't worried. There had been a very stern family talking to about tides and rocks and not swimming before they had had lessons, and being allowed to go wherever they wanted without telling her as long as they could see the house. After she had delivered this, Molly had quietly taken the children aside and pointed out that their mother had not yet recovered from the loss of their father, and that if Molly found out they had caused their mother any avoidable stress, there would be howlers in the mail. This was enough to reduce both children to a very quiet "Yes, Gran," and they had behaved like angels for the rest of the day.

But that was yesterday. Today, they had a whole house to explore, and the gardens, and after that the entire headland with its forest and rocks and shoreline. Hermione smiled at the sounds of yelling fading away down the path, and gave up on trying to keep awake. Ginny was due later with dinner (from Molly, of course), so she could fit in an hour's sleep, surely.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

An hour later, the clink of a teacup slid into her consciousness, and Hermione opened her eyes to the incredibly welcome sight of a hot cup of tea with two ginger snaps beside it. A light breeze was coming in the open window, waving the curtains gently back and forth.

"I'm going to have to concentrate if I want to get any work done," Hermione muttered to herself as she sipped the tea. Glancing around the room, she made a mental note of some of the things she wanted to set up, then she stood and wandered over to the fireplace where a fresh fire was ready laid out, just waiting for the cool of evening and a match.

Ten minutes later, she looked in both the children's rooms. All the clothes and belongings had been neatly packed away – so neatly that Hermione had to open a couple of drawers to confirm that the tidying had actually taken place, and that the clothes hadn't just been stuffed in a cupboard and the doors forced closed. However, of the children themselves there was no sign. Having confirmed her suspicions about their absence, Hermione brought her empty cup and plate down to the kitchen. 

"Ginny?"

The kitchen was empty, although the teapot, wrapped in a bright knitted cosy, still had a small wave of steam spilling from the spout. Hermione poured herself a second cup and grabbed the bottle of milk from the refrigerator. 

"I must send the children to the town for some basics, too. Now where did Ginny hide those biscuits?" Hermione mused as she sat and sipped the tea, which did not taste at all stewed. There was a slight clink behind her, and she turned, expecting to see her sister-in-law, but there was only the kitchen bench – and a biscuit barrel that Hermione could swear hadn't been there a second before. 

Just as she was about to wonder about her own sanity, the front doorbell rang and Ginny's voice echoed down the corridor.

"Anyone home?"

"In the k… _Ginny???_ "

Hermione looked at her cup of tea, then the biscuit barrel, then the next second she was flying down the hallway.

_"GET OUT! NOW!"_

Ginny startled, but obeyed, and in a trice both women were out of the house, out the front gate and staring up at it from the opposite side of the road.

Ginny peeled Hermione's hand off her arm, where Hermione had grabbed it in her hurry, and turned to her friend. 

"What's happened?"

"It's haunted."

Hermione's expression was so serious that Ginny held back her laughter, and tried to soothe the anxious woman.

"Haunted? Have you seen the ghost?"

"No, but something made me a cup of tea."

That was enough. Ginny collapsed in hysterical giggles, while Hermione looked down on her with a mixture of annoyance and worry. " _Tea?_ And here I was thinking you'd been attacked by the Dark Lord at the very least!"

"But I drank it!" 

Picking herself up, and checking around for any unwanted Muggle observers, Ginny quickly ran a diagnostic spell over Hermione, who stood very still and tried to will her pounding heart to calm down. The wand showed an unbroken purple glow, and Ginny's expression confirmed the "clear" finding. Finally, Ginny took Hermione's arm and started to lead her back inside, while Hermione filled her in on how it had all happened. 

Five minutes later they were standing in the kitchen, where the cup of tea still sat on the old-fashioned table, steaming slightly in the cooler air. The biscuit barrel was where Hermione had last seen it too, and Ginny waved her wand once more to check for any unwelcome influences. 

"Well?"

"It's clean – no poisons or nastiness. As is the tea. But have you noticed anything unusual?"

Hermione snorted. "You mean, apart from a cup of tea appearing out of nowhere?"

"And how long has it been sitting there, and it's still hot." Ginny touched the outside of the delicate china cup. "As hot as if the tea itself had only been made a minute ago. Also, what does the tea remind you of?"

Picking up the cup, Hermione sniffed it. "I'm not sure. Home – when I was a child. Or … no, Hogwarts. It reminds me of the tea we used to get at Hogwarts."

"And have you noticed the cup itself?" Ginny took it from Hermione's hands and turned it. The crest on the side confirmed it – the teacup had the Hogwarts crest on its delicate side.

"We would never have been allowed to use this at Hogwarts ourselves. It would have broken in a week!" Hermione picked up the saucer, feeling the lightness of the fine bone china. "But I have seen one just like it. Minerva gave me tea once in her rooms, and she had a set. So…"

"So I think I know who your 'ghost' is." Ginny grinned, then said in a very commanding voice " _Show yourself, elf!_ "

With a *pop*, a small dark house elf appeared in front of them, dressed in a fine apron with flounces and the Hogwarts crest in the middle. 

"You needn't be calling so loudly. Dimity is hearing you perfectly well." The house elf stood proudly, not at all subservient like the ones Hermione was used to seeing. "You is wanting more tea, or perhaps some sandwiches?"

"You belong here, don't you?" Ginny gestured to encompass the whole house. "You're not personal property?"

"Dimity is not _anyone's_ property, thank you, Miss. Dimity is a free elf, who serves the residents here." Hermione could swear the house elf flounced as she said this, and there was definitely a hurt air about the small thing. "Dimity was at Hogwarts, and was given her freedom like all the other house elves, and she chose to come here to serve the old master. And now the old master has asked Dimity to help Miz Weasley."

"And who is the old master?" Hermione thought she might have a good idea already, but Dimity just smiled, and hopped down onto the floor. 

"Dimity is not saying. But would you like some more tea?" 

"You lucky thing,", said Ginny as she watched the house elf bustle around the kitchen. "Mum could have done with an elf years ago, and here you are getting one for nothing."

An enraged screech from the elf almost blew their eardrums out. " _You are not getting Dimity for nothing! Dimity does not belong to YOU!_ "

"Sorry!" said Hermione, trying to act as non-threateningly as possible. "Of course, you are your own per… elf!" Then she stopped and thought for a moment. "But if you'd like to stay, I'd appreciate the help."

"Dimity is prepared to stay for the mistress, because the old master has asked it. But Dimity will be having a day off each month, and not working past midnight unless it is an emergency. Also, Dimity will be requiring wages."

"Oh." Hermione thought sadly of the almost-empty money sack she had hidden in the bedroom, as the Gringotts Goblins still hadn't permitted her access to Ron's funds at all. Apparently they were still annoyed about losing their dragon. "But I can't …"

"Dimity requires a pair of socks each winter, a warm hat each autumn, and a new apron in summer. And a galleon on the first day of spring. Can the mistress…?"

"If not, I'll pay for you," said Ginny. "

"No, that I can afford. Somehow. Thank you, Dimity. I accept your help with gratitude, because I really need it." She sank into a nearby chair, and sighed heavily. "I have no idea how I'll cope as it is. I get so tired…"

Ginny moved the tea closer to Hermione, then glanced at the house elf and gestured out of the kitchen. A moment later the two of them were in the corridor, just out of Hermione's hearing.

"Dimity, I need your help."

"I am not your elf, Miz Potter."

"No, I know. It's not for me." Ginny glanced into the kitchen, then looked back at the house elf. "It's Hermione. She's not well."

Dimity's expression slipped from haughty to concerned. "Not well? Is the mistress sick?"

"I wish it were that simple." Ginny's face held, but her voice cracked slightly and Dimity conjured up a handkerchief and handed it over. Ginny nodded her thanks, then continued. "She was tortured during the War, injured in the last Battle, and then suffered a great deal of survivor's guilt and depression afterwards. Rose's birth was rough, and Hugo's almost killed her. She's … just not very strong, and she keeps trying to do everything herself. She blames herself for the deaths of people like Remus and Tonks, and especially for not being able to save Professor Snape." At this, the elf started, but Ginny didn't notice and carried on. "So now she can't work a full-time job – she'll manage a week or so but then she'll collapse and be ill for a month. And since my brother died…" 

Ginny broke down at this point, and sobbed silently into her handkerchief. Dimity wrung her hands gently, then spoke up, her elf-eyes filled with tears.

"Miz Potter need not be worried. Dimity will make Miz Weasley take naps, and eat properly, and will not let her lift anything heavy or play with the old master's nasties. Dimity knows what's best."

"Thank you, Dimity. And can I ask…?"

"If there is need, Dimity will fetch Miz Potter."

Ginny took a deep breath, dried her eyes, then hugged Dimity hard. The old elf looked close to tears herself, but hugged back and, drying her own eyes surreptitiously on the corner of her apron, headed back into the kitchen. A moment later Ginny almost laughed out loud at the sound of Hermione giving in to a soul that was bossier than her own.


	3. Chapter 3

For two whole weeks, Hermione submitted to being managed by a being that could do it even better than Molly could have. Meals were cooked, clothes washed and put away, and every afternoon Hermione was encouraged to have a short sleep, to be woken by a house elf with a cup of tea and some sort of delicious home-made biscuit. The break from housework was wonderful, and Hermione definitely needed it. Dimity was effective without being subservient, and when Hermione put her foot down and demanded to be given a household task before she dissolved in a pile of superfluous uselessness, Dimity just nodded wisely, then showed Hermione the bedraggled back garden with the overgrown herb bed.

"If the Mistress can look after this, Dimity would be grateful. Dimity loves cooking, but the garden just …"

"I'm not surprised." Hermione wandered up and down the old beds, edges delineated by a border made of the local dark rock. Several familiar plants were visible between the obvious weeds and dead foliage, and she knelt beside one section and started separating out the stalks.

"Looking after a garden is a lot of work, and you have to know your plants and how they grow. Look, Dimity. It's rue, then pennyroyal, sage and parsley. Someone loved their herbs. And this…" 

Plucking a leaf from the next plant, Hermione turned it over and over, crushed it and sniffed, then stood and held the remaining mass to the light.

"Sopophorous bean. Dimity, who planted this?"

"I is not knowing, Mistress, but the garden was the place the old master loved being in."

Hermione's eyes had a light in them that hadn't been seen much for years. If Harry had been there, he would have known she was thinking hard and working out a solution, and no-one could really tell if the triumphant look that came a moment later was from the solution itself, or from the joy of finding that after all her trials and tribulations, Hermione's brain was still working as well as it had. She turned to the house elf and looked as if she was about to ask a question, then she shook herself and instead requested that the house elf send an owl to Hagrid.

"After all, he'll know what to do. And maybe he'll be able to help me dig this garden over." And for the rest of the afternoon, Hermione made diagrams and charts of the gardens, and lists of possible plants. Hagrid came to visit within the week, and a mere fortnight after she moved in, Hermione had a well-laid-out garden with vegetable beds, the herbs, and a space for a couple of fruit trees that she would request as her birthday presents that year. Summer had been amazingly warm, and she suspected that with the shelter of the garden walls, even figs and oranges might stand a chance. At the very least a fine apple tree should be put in. On the two-week anniversary of the family's occupation of the cottage, she stood on the garden path and breathed in the scents as Rose and Hugo tended their own little beds. 

"Mistress should be having her sleep now." Dimity came up behind her, and tugged gently at her skirt.

"I shall, Dimity. All that weeding and clearing has left me quite tired, and I didn't do most of it." Hermione allowed herself to be led inside, divested of her apron and escorted upstairs to her study where she could lie down and rest.

An hour later, Dimity put the cup of tea and a plate with a thin slice of fruit cake silently down beside Hermione. Looking over her new mistress, Dimity nodded in satisfaction.

"So you're pleased with this one?" The voice was sonorous, yet barely carried to the elf's ears.

"She is a good mistress. She is fair, and she tries so hard." Dimity spoke with great pride. "And she doesn't ask Dimity too many questions that Dimity cannot answer."

Dimity heard the snort behind her, and grinned. The old master had been so crotchety of later, and had hated all the other tenants. This one might be allowed to stay though. "May Dimity answer the questions?"

"No. No, she will work it out, but I would prefer that she did not for a long time. I could not stand her pity."

"Very well, sir." Dimity turned to face the tall, dark figure, bowed and then walked quietly out of the room, leaving him to watch her new mistress from the dark shadows at the side of the room.

Hermione woke slowly, and started to stir on the chaise longue. To an observer, the dark figure in the corner would have seemed to meld into the shadows, becoming almost invisible to all but a practiced eye. Nor did he move as Hermione stretched, sat up and took her cup while she looked over the room, as if discerning its secrets. She drank the tea with an unseemly haste, and ignored the cake, something that would horrify Dimity if she found out.

Putting her teacup down, Hermione stood and walked straight to the old fireplace. The mantelpiece was carved along its edge with a number of different plants, and today Hermione found one corner of it very interesting.

"Rue, pennyroyal, sage, parsley then what in Merlin's name is this?" She ran her fingers over the fifth plant, trying to ascertain its features. "Acuminate, entire – this is not the sopophorus bean, I'd swear. Which means…" She began pressing each of the features of the fifth plant, attempting to twist and pull the various points.

"Try sliding that last bean." The voice behind her spoke softly, and she muttered a quiet thanks as she attempted to slide the final, rounded black bean shape on the mantelpiece. A low "click" sounded as the entire mantelpiece jumped towards her an inch, enough to show that there was a passage behind it.

"Thank you! I never would have found that without you, professor." Hermione pulled hard at the mantelpiece, and the entire structure, including the fireplace, slid past her on a hinge. "So was this your secret hideaway?"

"How did you know?"

"Know that this was your hidden door?"

"No, insufferable girl. How did you know I was here, and not jump out of your skin when I talked?" 

Hermione turned around and faced the ghost. "I've known you were here for weeks now, professor. I knew the house belonged to a Hogwarts staff member, and it was the sopophorus bean that narrowed it down to you, although I'd had my suspicions. Who else would have the rare ingredient for the Potion of Living Death in their garden?"

"Humph." Ghosts shouldn't look miffed. It really takes away from any sort of distinguished air they are trying to project, and it certainly didn't help Severus Snape. Hermione almost laughed at the sight of him so discombobulated, but she thought she'd better save his feelings a little, so she turned back to the fireplace.

"I knew there must be something up here. The length of the room doesn't correspond to the length of the house, and the wall here is slightly different to the other internal walls. And if you count the windows outside, there's one extra. But it wasn't until I realised that the plants on the mantelpiece are almost the same as the ones in the garden that I knew I had my key." Hermione pulled the mantelpiece the last few centimetres until it rested against the wall, revealing a small chamber that ran the width of the house. The room was lit from either side by a small window, and set up as a potions laboratory. Everything was covered in dust, and there was a slight smell of dried herbs and long-perished half-finished potions. 

"Oh. It's beautiful."

Hermione wandered slowly in, followed by the ghost. She ran her fingers lightly along the benchtop, touched a bunch of puffapod stems that had been hung up to dry, and gently blew the dust off the lid of the cauldron. She took hold of the handle, then turned back to her escort. "Is this safe?"

"It should be empty. I wasn't brewing anything that last day."

"But… the agent said you died from a chemical experiment gone wrong."

"Idiot."

"Him or me?"

Snape turned to look out the window, where the view was of the waves gently running into the cove below and a pigeon resting on the sill. "You will have surmised that I did not die when Nagini attacked me. It was close, but the house elves found me and took me to St Mungos, where I lay for three months in a private ward with very restricted entry. I did not want the world to lynch me, nor to laud me. You understand?"

"I do." Hermione walked up and put her hand on his shoulder, but recollected herself when it just passed right through the ghost. "I quickly grew tired of the whole Hero of Hogwarts label. At least that explains why no-one found your body at the end. We thought it had been destroyed in anger by Voldemort."

"Well, obviously, it wasn't. But I couldn't face coming back. So I bought Cliff Cottage, fitted up this end section of the top room to be my workroom, and had a more conventional set of equipment in what you now use as your study. And for six glorious, quiet years I was able to rest, to recuperate, to experiment in various potions that I had never had the time to work with before."

"And no-one knew?"

"Minerva knew, because she sent all my things from Hogwarts, along with a certain stubborn little house elf who wanted a change of scenery. But that was it. To the village, I was Septimus Prince, reclusive retiree. I hired a cleaning woman once a week to keep up the Muggle appearance, but otherwise I had little to do with them. A weekly walk to the village to fetch the mail and order groceries, and twice-yearly train trips to my agents in London."

"Agents?" 

"Handling the sales of my new discoveries. Have you heard of _Minusdolore_ , the painkilling cream?"

"I've used it." Hermione's hand went involuntarily to her ribcage, where Bellatrix's carvings had shown for many years. "It worked wonderfully – that was you?"

"It provided a useful income stream, in both the wizarding and the Muggle world. I was careful to make it using only Muggle-normal ingredients and methods, although I am quite surprised that no rival products have yet appeared. Or rather, not one that works."

Hermione smiled at the pride which came through at this pronouncement, and wisely decided to stay quiet. In the silence, her breathing could be heard over the sound of the surf below.

"But you asked about my death. It wasn't what they said. As if I would commit suicide after everything I had survived." Snape huffed, and the pigeon took off in surprise. "No, I was having a rest on that very chaise longue that you have appropriated for your own afternoon sleeps. I had a batch of an experimental potion that needed to sit in the sunlight for a couple of hours for the scents to come out, so I had that on the table, catching the afternoon sunlight. So I lay down to think about some problems while I rested, and I just died."

"Just … died?"

"It turned out, Miss Granger, that my heart had been damaged by all the curses and punishments the Dark Lord had inflicted on me. And as I slept, it stopped. Quietly. Suddenly. Stopped. No pain, no lingering on for weeks, or collapsing in agony. I fell asleep, Miss Granger, and never woke up again, except, of course, in this form. Which happened pretty much as soon as I had passed away – I went to get up, then realised I was looking down at myself. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened."

"But the experiment? It didn't kill you? They said…"

"Fools and idiots. The potion evaporated more than it should have, but that just meant that the room reeked of the brew when they found me, and the doctor made a pronouncement he should never have made. And that, in fact, is probably why I'm stuck here."

"That, or you're too stubborn to leave." Hermione couldn't help laughing a little at him, which worsened when Snape turned what he hoped was his most supercilious look upon her.

"Miss Granger, you have no respect."

"It's Weasley now, Professor. But you really should call me 'Hermione'. After all, we're not at school any more."

At that, he smiled. "Indeed. You may, therefore, address me by my given name."

"Thank you, Severus. But I do have to ask …"

"And in that way you have not changed at all."

Hermione would have kicked him if he had been able to feel it. "You're still putting people down with every breath."

"And you are asking about everything and anything. So ask."

"Your equipment. Your portrait. The agent said they were 'upstairs', and we've found a door that must lead to the attic, but it's locked. Where's the key?"

"In the kitchen, in the vase on the shelf over the kitchen range."

"Oh bother." Hermione shook her head in frustration. "That's the one thing we didn't check. Dimity didn't know, and the agent won't give us his copy. He probably thinks we want to steal it."

Snape almost laughed at this. "The value in the equipment is in the potions it made for me. All the instructions and notes are in this room, not with my Muggle chemistry set. But it's also that I didn't trust any successive tenants with that sort of equipment."

He paused, then turned and looked directly at her.

"Except for you."

"Oh." Hermione looked around the hidden room, the awareness of just how much he trusted her dawning on her and rendering her almost speechless for a moment. "Thank you…" She looked back, but he had gone.

"Severus?"

There was silence, broken only by the yells as the children came back up the path for dinner, and the wind gently scraped a branch on the wall outside. 

"Professor?"

But for the rest of the day, there was no answer.


	4. Chapter 4

The next year flew by. Hermione had Dimity move the chemistry equipment down to the workroom, and the portrait of Snape which was also in the attic was restored to its place over the mantelpiece. It was a Muggle portrait, with none of the movement that characterised a wizarding picture, but Hermione still found it comforting. Sometimes she would just talk to it, when Snape himself was not around for a chat. Sometimes she would read through his old notes in the potions lab, and wonder at the brilliance of the man. It seemed that, once he no longer had to deal also with tiresome students and hiding his own double agent status, his mind had exploded with ideas and concepts that ranged from fanciful to visionary.

Severus himself would show up from time to time, mainly in the afternoons after she had had her sleep, or in the evenings once the children had gone to bed. They talked about Hogwarts, about the years that Snape had led a double life, and of the years that Hermione had felt like an outsider in the prejudiced Wizarding community. Severus had not heard what Harry had called his youngest son, and Hermione watched Severus's face in amusement as the ex-Potions Master had to deal with the combined disgust and pride at hearing his name attached to his hated rival's grandson.  

But Hermione had had her own troubles to deal with. Although both she and Ron had been given medals and honour, they hadn't had much money. Hermione's parents were irretrievably in Australia, their minds altered forever, and they had taken everything with them. The Weasleys, of course, were not well off. Comfortable, yes, but not wealthy by any means. And both Hermione and Ron had used most of their funds to help families torn apart and destroyed by the War. She could, of course, ask Harry to help out, but Hermione had her pride.

The children were attending the local school, as she had a firm belief in the value of a solid Muggle education before they had to face the oddity of the Wizarding school system, and she and Dimity kept the house under control and the garden looking healthy. A large amount of their food came from the garden, too, with the children encouraged to grow vegetables and fruit. But growing children need more than just vegetables, and as well as food there were clothes, and money for school equipment and excursions, and Hermione needed various medicines too. The public health system covered most, but there was still a constant drain on her purse.

So it came that on a Monday, not long after the children had run, laughing, down the road that led into the village, that Dimity brought the morning mail into Hermione with a look on her face that seemed that she was carrying a pile of foetid dog-blankets instead of a couple of envelopes.

"Bills, Dimity?"

"They is starting to use very strong language, Miz Hermione." Dimity had finally agreed to use Hermione's first name, but only with the honorific. "And they is using red in the address pane too."

"Bother."

"And the one from the village butcher says that they will not be sending us any more meat until we has paid."

"Drat and bother. Thank you, Dimity. We will cope somehow."

Dimity stood looking mournful. "Are we in trouble, Miz Hermione? You is not wanting to leave Cliff Cottage, is you?"

"I don't want to leave. It's too beautiful here, and the children are enjoying it so much. No, I think I shall have to see if there's anything left I can sell. We will cope." Hermione took the envelopes and glanced at the addresses. "The other one is from the agent. I'll just have to find three months' rent from somewhere… Dimity, are you able to scare up a cup of tea?"

"I will see, Miz Hermione." Dimity disapparated out with a 'pop', and shortly afterwards was heard bustling around the kitchen and muttering imprecations against filthy Muggles who made her Mistress sad.

Hermione looked again at the two envelopes, then added them to a small pile on the desk. Although none of the envelopes had been opened, there was a neat list under them of all of the debts and to whom they were owed. The final figure was not pretty. Hermione touched it gently, as if the very ink caused her pain. Maybe it did, for tears started to run down her face.

"You have a handkerchief in your pocket, Hermione. Use it."

Hermione sat, unresponsive, as Severus walked up to her and read the list.

"How in heaven's name did a sensible woman like you get into so much mess?"

"I don't know, Severus." Hermione finally fished out the handkerchief and blew her nose. "We've tried to be very careful, and heaven knows I did the move as cheaply as possible, and we have vegetarian days so we don't have to buy too much meat, but…" It was too much. Hermione buried her face in her hands, and burst into fully-fledged sobs.

Severus hovered over her, unable to offer more than murmurs of support, until he found himself being brushed brusquely away by a small but determined house elf.

"WHAT have you been saying to Miz Hermione?" Dimity put the cup of tea and plate of cake on the desk, then put her elfish arms around Hermione and patted her back until Hermione's sobs had diminished to a mild hiccup. The tea helped with that, and soon Hermione was able to talk, albeit with a hitch in her voice.

"You is not well, Miz Hermione, and this is making you worse."

"Maybe, Dimity. But that doesn't change the situation."

"Are you eligible for any benefits, Hermione? A government pension, or an allowance?" Severus racked his brains, thinking of the money that used to come in when he was a child and his father was out of work.

"No, not me. They'd want to know why I wasn't working, and I can't. I tried – I'd manage one day then I'd be collapsed for a fortnight. But the Atos people said that I was capable, so they banned me from any allowances. No, Severus, there's no help to be got out of them." Hermione sobbed again, and Dimity had to run a cleaning spell over the handkerchief to make it fit for use.

All three stood or sat in silence for a minute or so, until Severus looked over to the fireplace, then back at Hermione.

"Are you still capable of brewing potions?"

"I think so… so long as I take breaks and rest when I'm tired."

"Excellent." Snape rubbed his hands together, and his expression became almost jovial. "I think I have a solution. Literally."

"Oh?"

"The day that I died, Hermione, I had just worked out a variation on the _Minusdolore_ cream. I'd discovered a combination of ingredients which, when made up as a cream, dissolves scar tissue and makes it as fine and as smooth as first-born baby skin. If you can help me work out how to manufacture this, then it will solve your money problems."

"It would? Of course it would, Severus! That would be brilliant!"

"And, Hermione, if you were certain of an income in the near future, would you consider perhaps borrowing some money from your friends now that you would be able to pay them back?"

"Perhaps." Hermione scowled, but looked much less worried than she had earlier. "I hate borrowing, but yes, if I know I'll be able to return it, then for the sake of the children, I will. They must not suffer because of this."

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

For the next two months, life was better and worse at Cliff Cottage. On the good side, Hermione was able to swallow her pride and ask Harry to lend her enough to cover her bills and a little more to live on for the next few months while she worked on the new _Cutiskin_ ointment. Dimity responded by doubling her cooking efforts, and the children seemed to understand the importance of their mum's work.

One night, as the latest test batch of ointment lay cooling on the benchtop, Hermione walked out onto the small balcony to get a breath of fresh air. She was almost dropping with exhaustion, as she had pushed herself hard to try and get this product ready. Severus walked out with her, and they stood side by side and looked out onto the autumn mist that had risen around the house.

"I think we might have it this time," Hermione sighed, pleased but tired. The cool air was reviving her slightly, but really only enough that she would have the energy to go to bed instead of collapsing on the chaise longue in the lab again.

"I believe we do."  Severus looked out into the mist, although there was nothing to be seen but a grey swirl. "Why don't you take it up to London tomorrow, and talk with my old agents at _Dust and Mildew_? Augustus Worme isn't in the office much any more, but his grandson runs the business now. He dabbles in potions himself, so he'll be interested."

"I'll take the morning train. I should really get some sleep."

"Definitely, my dear. You look exhausted." Severus continued to look out at the mist, but Hermione startled at the endearment. He had never called her anything like that before. Her hand flew to her face, and then she realised something.

"Severus? My skin…"

He moved to her quickly, and had her hold her hands up where he could see her. "I don't understand. What about your skin?"

"I had scars all over this hand, Severus. But not only has the cream softened and reduced them, but it has also reduced the wrinkles."

"So?"

"So, Severus, we may have a bigger market that we realised. I think we'll sell more of this cream to the beauty products market than to the medical one." Hermione was suddenly animated, bouncing like a small child. "I detest the vanity that some women insist on, but have you any idea how popular this would be? I think we have it!" She went to hug him, but her arms just passed through his torso.

"Oh."

"Hermione…" Severus's face was sad, and his eyes looked as if his heart was breaking. "I wish…"

"I do too, Severus. But it can't be. You're …"

"A ghost. Go to bed, Hermione. What we both want is not possible. And we mustn't dwell upon it. It will only make both of us sadder than before." And on that note, he disappeared, and she stood looking at the space where he had been a moment before, until Dimity came in and wrapped her in a warm shawl and sent her to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification: ATOS is the British company that currently has the contract to decide if people are entitled to disability benefits or not. They have a bad record of deciding someone is well enough to work when the person has died a week later, or can't move out by themselves...


	5. Chapter 5

On the train the next day, Hermione tried not to slide into sadness as she watched the countryside rumble past. She'd never bothered having the fireplaces at home connected to the Floo network, and besides, it was nice to have a bit of time and space to relax as the train headed off into London. London itself was rather busy, and she found the trip to Tite Street tiring. However, by twelve o'clock she was in the offices of a respected Chelsea firm that had started as apothecaries connected with the Physic Garden, and now manufactured various remedies based on herbs and natural ingredients.

"I'm sorry, madam," the receptionist said. "The manager does not see people without an appointment, and she is booked up solidly for the next three weeks. Perhaps next time you could call before you come here?"

"I don't have a phone at our place", Hermione replied. "Please, I only need to see her for a few minutes."

The receptionist just glared at her, and Hermione turned in frustration that her cunning alternative plan should fall apart so quickly. As she turned, though, her arm caught the stomach of the person who had come up behind her, and she winced at their _oof_. 

"I'm terribly sorry, sir." She rubbed her own elbow as she looked at her hapless victim.

"Anyone else I would hex in a moment, but for you, Granger, I can make an exception."

Hermione peered at the face. It was a great deal less refined than it had been when she was a Hogwarts, but not too hard to recognise after all these years. "Draco? Good grief, what are _you_ doing here, Ferret?"

"None of your names, Granger. I think I might be able to help you here. Margaret, am I still booked in to see the boss in five minutes?"

The receptionist checked the diary, and nodded. "You have a fifteen minute appointment to discuss the latest progress on the Acai Berry campaign."

"Miss Granger will be taking my time instead. If she's taken the trouble to come here, then whatever she has is worth listening to. "

Hermione gasped, and the receptionist glared at her, but Draco was unmoveable. Realising her opportunity, she nodded at him. "That's very sweet of you, Fer… Mr Malfoy. I hadn't realised you worked on this side now." 

"Call me 'Draco'."

"Then you'd best call me 'Hermione'. Or Mrs Weasley. Except that that makes me feel old." She smiled, relieved, and brought out a small jar of the cream. "Hopefully this will persuade her. You seem very sure of yourself though."

At that, the receptionist _harrumphed_ behind her, and Draco took her arm and led her up the corridor. "Ignore Margaret there. She's still getting over a broken heart. But when you talk to Miss Elliott, make sure you say how helpful Margaret is. You don't want to get on her bad side too early. And here's the office."

He knocked on the door, and a voice within called "Come in, Draco." 

Opening the door, he stuck his head around. "Miss Elliott? I'm sending in a friend who has an amazing proposal." And before there could be any protest from either side, he had propelled into the office and closed the door behind her.

An hour later, Hermione walked out of the office and back down to reception with a glazed look in her eyes. The manager had agreed to manufacture her cream in two forms – one slightly perfumed that would be marked up incredibly and sold as a wrinkle reducing formula, and one with a slight antiseptic smell that would be the scar removal cream, sold cheaply to ensure all the people who needed it could afford it. In reality, the only difference was the scent and the packaging – Hermione had suspected that this was the way things worked, and while it was disappointing, she had to accept it. Besides, the advance payments for the formula and rights were more than enough for her to pay off all her debts and quite a sum left over, and if sales were as expected, she would even be able to buy Cliff Cottage. 

She had her hand on the front door when a touch at her elbow stopped her.

"Did it work?"

"I beg your … oh, Draco! Yes, yes it did." The triumph shone out of her eyes, and he smiled in reply. 

"Then let me take you to lunch, to celebrate your victory."

"Oh, I couldn't. I need to get back…"

"Back?"

"I live down near Exeter now, and the children are with me. I'm catching a train in twenty minutes, in fact, and will barely be able to make it."

"You don't apparate?"

"I can't." Hermione blushed. "Since …I've been ill, and one of the side effects … I splinched myself the last time, and I've been told it's safer not to."

"Then let me take you to lunch, and _I'll_ apparate you back to a nice, safe spot where you can walk home and they'll never know."

Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "You did get me the appointment."

"Then come and tell me all about it over some nice sole and salad." He guided her outside, and they walked the ten minutes to the restaurant while catching up with life up to this point. The conversation continued over lunch, and Hermione, who was expecting to be condescended to and belittled, was pleasantly surprised at the manners and consideration of her companion.

"So you didn't marry Pansy?"

"No, she wouldn't have anything to do with me after the Battle. I'm afraid my family, and I, acted like asses. I blame my father, but I could have stood up for myself. That's one of the reasons I work for Muggles now." Draco refilled Hermione's glass, and sipped his own. "It started as a punishment, to make Purebloods liaise with Muggles and try to work together, but I quickly realised that there are areas where Wizarding knowledge can make quite an impact in the Muggle world. So now I work in the marketing section of a Muggle potions company. And what was in this cream you're selling to Miss Elliott today?"

"Trade secret But it does reduce the appearance of scars."

"That's a fairly limited market?"

"It also reduces wrinkles." 

"Why, Gran… Hermione! You shock me! Pandering to the tastes of modern fashion?"

"I'm doing it for the scar reduction, and the rest is going to support me." Hermione was annoyed that she had to justify herself to Draco, but he put his hand over hers in a very understanding manner, and just nodded.

"We all do things we don't like to keep going. And speaking of which, I think we have time for dessert before I take you home."

An hour later, a slightly tipsy Hermione walked out of the side of the Hainmouth station waiting room, and onto the path that led to Cliff Cottage. Draco had apparated her there so that she could seem to be coming from the train that had pulled out five minutes before, and he had kissed her cheek as he sent her on her way. Hermione had been surprised, but not horrified, and in truth it was nice to have a man paying attention to her like that.

"He's still a spoilt brat."

"Severus!"

"I saw him kiss you." Severus was walking beside her, but from the lack of reaction of any of the other villagers, it was obvious he was invisible. "He wants more than just to help you with our product."

"Maybe he does." Hermione refused to be drawn out of the best mood she had been in all week. "Maybe he just wants to make up for past misdeeds. We talked about it a great deal."

"And drank a great deal, and you even traded desserts."

" _You were spying on me!_ Severus – you should be ashamed of yourself. If that's how you're going to be…" And she suddenly sped up, leaving Severus looking after her as she headed up the road.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two weeks later, Hermione was watering the flowers in her front garden when a "Hello there" from the front gate startled her.

"Draco! What are you doing here?"

"The boss wanted to send you this, so I offered to bring it."

"You do know that the Muggles have a thing called _the post_ , don't you?" Hermione took the envelopes, and opened the gate to let Draco come in. "What's in here?"

"Your statement and a copy of your agreement, as well as the marketing campaigns for the next year. The funds should be in your bank account as we speak. I would have called ahead, except that …"

"Except that we don't have a phone." Hermione pointed out to the road. "The local titled git owns the land down the road, so he won't allow them to dig up his land to put in a telephone line. He and his family have been holding out for fifty years. And I haven't ever got around to getting a mobile, although now I think I might. Draco, what are you _really_ doing here?"

"I came to see if I could get some afternoon tea." Draco smiled his most beguiling smile, and when Hermione showed him inside, it barely stopped. 

She asked Dimity to put out some tea in the living room downstairs, then took Draco on a tour. It was only as they approached the workroom that she remembered that Draco would recognise the portrait above the fireplace – and she had left the secret passage open. But as they walked in, she saw that the passage was closed and the portrait missing. 

"Nice workroom, Hermione. Is this where you did your research?" Draco ran a hand over her workbench, where the various flasks and pots stood proudly.

"Yes, and the plants all came from the garden downstairs." Hermione thought she heard a low chuckle behind her, but when she looked, there was no sign of Severus. However, during the rest of the house tour, she had the feeling he wasn't far away. 

"And how in the name of Merlin's saggy and pendulous did you afford a house elf?"

"Oh, she's not mine. She belongs to the house." 

Hermione crossed her fingers, but to no avail. A small outraged voice beside her yelled out " _DIMITY DOES NOT BELONG TO ANYBODY!_ And afternoon tea is served." 

It took the pair of them a few minutes to lose the ringing from their ears, but Draco and Hermione kept talking over tea so long that Hermione ended up inviting him to dinner. Rose and Hugo weren't impressed by him, and disappeared from the dinner table as soon as they could, but Hermione couldn't help but enjoy the attention, and when Draco suggested a walk down the road back towards the village, she hesitated only a moment before quickly telling the children she'd kiss them goodnight later.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"How is it you haven't married again? If I might ask, that is." Draco glanced at her, hoping he hadn't hit a raw nerve, but she just looked pensive. 

"I haven't met many men since Ron died. And I am rather picky." She stopped walking, and he came around in front of her.

"You are a very attractive woman, not to mention intelligent and amusing." Draco gently brushed a lock of hair from Hermione's face, and she closed her eyes, the better to feel the sensation. Then he kissed her, and for a brief, glorious while things were wonderful.

An hour later, Hermione let herself in the front door of the cottage. Her hair was rather mussed, and her shirt showed signs of some manhandling, but the smile on her face was beatific. 

"He's after something, you know."

Hermione looked at the dark figure that appeared in front of her. "He's after me, if you must know. And is that so bad?"

"You could do a lot better."

"Why, Severus – you're jealous!"

At this, the dark figure disappeared, and Hermione headed for the kitchen where Dimity was washing up. 

"He is no good for you, Miz."

"You sound just like Severus, Dimity. And I … like Severus. Very much. But he's a ghost, and I'm a flesh and blood woman with feelings, and needs and … and Draco is making me feel very happy right now."

Dimity just shrugged and went back to the washing up, and Hermione floated up to her bedroom and to sleep.

And over her, late at night, a dark figure stood and gestured.

"Flesh and blood he is, and can give you what I cannot. So you should forget me, forget that the potions room existed, or that you saw me here. You made up the cream by yourself, and not with my help. And you'll think this was all a dream, our talks, our working together…"

And if a solid shadow could appear sad, then this was a sad shadow that faded out with the coming of the dawn.


	6. Chapter 6

When Hermione finally opened the package Draco had bought, she found inside a copy of the marketing campaign festooned with notes marked "Please initial here if you agree" and a letter asking her to return it as soon as possible. She decided to make a day trip back to London, with the campaign, and enjoy herself a little doing some shopping for the children.

She dropped the envelope back with Margaret, who seemed a lot happier to see her. 

"The boss gave me some of your cream, Mrs Weasley. It's quite impressive – I have an old scar from riding into a fence when I was a girl, and this is the first time it's caused me no trouble in years."

"Oh, that's wonderful, Margaret." Hermione glanced down, and saw that an envelope on the desk was addressed to Draco. Suddenly a thought flashed through her mind. "I was wondering – could you make me a photocopy of this for me to take?"

"Immediately, Mrs Weasley." Margaret took the envelope and headed to the back of the office, and Hermione quickly memorised Draco's address. After all, he had said he would be at home all day today, so perhaps a quick visit and a cup of coffee…

Within the hour, she was knocking at the front door of a rather lovely Belgravia townhouse, where a discreet plaque said "Malfoy Residence". The woman that opened the door was well-dressed, elegant and slightly familiar.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, hello. I was looking for Draco Malfoy."

"It's Hermione, isn't it! Do step in, he won't be long."

The woman led Hermione into a beautifully furnished drawing room, where pictures were hung on every spare piece of wall space and framed on every table surface.

Hermione turned to her hostess. "I feel that I know you from somewhere."

"Astoria. I was Astoria Greengrass at Hogwarts, quite a few years behind you. I remember you being the terribly clever girl who knew more than the teachers half the time."

Hermione took Astoria's hand and shook it. "Of course – your older sister was Daphne, wasn't she? And what are you doing now?"

"Well since I married Draco, I've started my own interior decorating business – when the children give me time, that is. Oh, I say – you've gone quite pale. Mimsy! Water for our guest, please!"

Astoria sat Hermione down on a couch, and held her hand until a house elf appeared with a glass of water. She made Hermione drink the whole thing, and Hermione shook and tried very hard not to cry.

"I must go. I've made a terrible mistake."

Astoria helped her up, but then held onto her hand and looked at her with total compassion and care. "No, I don't think you have. I think Draco has. And this isn't the first time he's done this. It's not your fault. He's very easy to love. Can I call someone to come and get you?"

"Oh, no, thank you." Hermione just wanted to melt and disappear. "I'll just … go from here."

She pushed Astoria away and then, summoning the last of her strength and ignoring the warnings, apparated back to Cliff Cottage. Dimity found her passed out on the floor five minutes later, and carried her up to her bed where she slept for three days and then just sat for a whole afternoon, staring out the window at the late autumn fog.

Finally, Dimity came to her that evening and wrapped skinny elf arms around Hermione.

"He is not worth it Miz Hermione. You is worth twenty of him. He is a cheat and a scoundrel and not even worth your tears. You is better off without him." And Hermione cried for an hour, weeping bitterly on Dimity's shoulder until she fell asleep there, and woke the next morning feeling stiff and sore but much better.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ten years later, Hermione and Dimity were putting the last touches to the dining table which was covered in the best tea spread a pair of devoted cooks could provide. Rose had offered to apparate her brother from Kings Cross, and had refused to be met as it was her last trip back and she was 'a grownup now'. The bang at the front door, though, sounded a bit too loud to just be two people.

The voices in the hallway confirmed this. Hugo rushed in first to hug Hermione then Dimity, followed by Rose's head around the door.

"Mum? Could you come here a moment?" 

Hermione just shrugged at Dimity, then headed out. There in the corridor stood a tall black boy who looked vaguely familiar.

"Mum, may I introduce to you Malcolm Thomas? Malcolm, this is my mum."

"Mrs Weasley, I've heard so much about you."

"Glad to meet you, Malcolm. You must be Dean's son."

"I am, and Dad said to say hello." Malcolm smiled the relieved smile of the teenager whose first meeting with his girlfriend's mum hasn't been nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Hugo barrelled out from the dining room, and grabbed Malcolm's hand. 

"Come on – we have to wash our hands before tea." 

Hermione watched the poor lad being dragged up the corridor by the eager youngster, then Rose took her arm and headed down to the kitchen with her.

"You didn't mention him before, dear."

"I wasn't sure until last week. But he's really sweet. And I didn't think you'd mind him coming for tea. Dimity always cooks about five times as much as anyone can eat."

"That's true." Hermione hugged her daughter. "And he seems lovely. It could be much worse."

"Yeah, it could have been Scorpius Malfoy." Rose screwed up her face. "He was always trying to chat me up, but I couldn't stand him. Especially not after what his dad did to you."

"You knew about that?"

"Of course. Did you know Astoria finally threw him out? Scorpius told me last year."

"That doesn't surprise me. I saw Draco a couple of years ago at an industry dinner. He's very fat, and he's lost all his hair." Hermione grinned – not a nice grin – and hugged her daughter again. "But I'm glad you've found someone nice."

"Yes, he's not as nice as the professor, but he'll do." Rose bounced a little. "We should go back."

"Hang on – the professor? You liked one of your professors?"

"No, Mum. Don't be silly. I meant the old professor that used to live here. I had dreams when I was young, that he used to show me all the secret places in the house, and the path down the cliff that was safe even in the rain, and how to grow the special plants. I had quite a crush on him when I was a child. But I can't have him, so I'll have Malcolm instead." And Rose took her shocked mother's hand and led her back to the tea room.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thirty years later, an owl flew into the old workroom at the top of the stairs and left a package on the table beside old Mrs Weasley. She lifted herself from the dilapidated chaise longue, and opened it eagerly, looking forward to the wedding pictures of young Hermione, Rose's daughter who had just married Gerald Longbottom in Australia. The pictures were clear and bright, and the couple obviously loved each other very much.

Dimity appeared beside her, peering at the pictures. "She's a pretty one, Miz Hermione is, and she's a bright one too. She is just like her Grandmother who is a clever witch."

"Oh, really, Dimity," Hermione grumbled, then smiled. "But she _is_ a clever lass. Youngest Professor of Charms the Junee school has had. And Gerald is Head of Tintookie house at the Wagga Wagga Wizarding college. But she's much more her grandfather's child, with her Quidditch skills."

"Glad she went for a professor, but." Dimity gently lifted Hermione's feet so that she was lying on the chaise longue, then shook out an old quilt and laid it over her. They could have replaced both the chaise and the quilt years ago, but Hermione loved them too much. "Much better, those professors are. They is better for you than a mere businessman like her father."

"Malcolm is a good man, despite not being a professor. But I'm not tired." Hermione plucked at the quilt fretfully.

"Yes you are, Miz Hermione, and I'll be bringing you up a hot cup of tea in an hour like always."

"Bring it up now, would you? I don't think I'll sleep that much today." 

"Very well, Miz Hermione. But you is staying on that couch until I'm back, all right?"

"Oh, if I must." And Hermione leaned back and looked at the pictures again, fighting the tiredness that overwhelmed her until they fell unheeded from her hands, and her eyes closed.

"Hermione?"

A familiar voice called, and she shook off the cover and stood up. There, in front of her, stood Severus, holding out his hands.

"Severus? Oh Severus!" She flew into his arms, as agile and young as she had been when she first moved in. He kissed her hard and passionately, with all the force of nearly fifty years of waiting. She kissed him back, and then he led her out of the room, away from her body which lay cooling on the chaise longue, past Dimity on the stairs who was stomping up with a hot cup of tea, and out the front door to the next wonderful adventure.


End file.
